


Void the (Not So) Symbiote

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Humor, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Bff Void Verse, Chaos Can Be Earned Two Ways, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff and Humor, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Like Shaving Derek's Eyebrows, M/M, Nogitsune (Teen Wolf) is a Little Shit, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Scott is a Good Friend, Self-Indulgent, Spark Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Pack - Freeform, The Pack Ships It, Uh It's a Mess, Void Ships It, Void Stiles on Crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Instead of coming to Beacon Hills to wreak havoc, the Nogitsune turned up to spend some time with the Hale-McCall pack and maybe cause a prank or two.Chaotic madness ensues.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 102
Kudos: 325





	1. Void the Prankster

The thing is, Stiles didn’t realize he was being possessed.

Sure, things had been a little weird since the Alpha pack, but that was to be expected. Boyd and Erica were still recovering from spending time as captives and Derek was still trying to wrap his head around his old girlfriend going murderous (again). They were all a bit of a mess, but that really shouldn’t have been so surprising.

It started with the little things.

Objects around the loft started to go missing. All of Isaac’s scarves somehow turned up in the dumpster only a few seconds before they caught fire. Someone put dye in Jackson’s shampoo so that one day, he came out of the shower with flashing blue eyes, a murderous expression on his face, and bright pink hair. 

The tipping point was when someone shaved Derek’s eyebrows and replaced them with black sharpie. No one knew how a literal werewolf hadn’t realized he was being pranked, but Derek had been all red eyes and snapping teeth for hours afterward.

Someone out making trouble. And the pack decided to ban together and figure out what.

“Maybe it’s a pixie,” Stiles said, flipping through the bestiary. “I mean, pixies like to cause conflict, right? And it’d make sense. Those things are finger-sized, how else would it get around without any of us noticing?”

“It’s not a pixie,” Derek growled. His eyebrows were still growing back and he seemed to be all grumps and growls because of it. “We’d scent the magic.”

“Scent the magic.”

“Yes,” Derek said, stalking the length of the loft. “It’d be… electric. Different. We’d know.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have much else for you,” Stiles said, flipping the book closed. Lydia reached out and Stiles passed it over, despite knowing they weren’t going to get anywhere. 

It’d been a week now since Derek had declared war on whatever was causing conflict. And they were no closer to figuring out what it was. Scott thought Deaton might know, but the druid had just waved them off and said he was ‘retired’. Derek had even called Peter. But the Creeperwolf had yet to get back to them.

Stiles was stumped. They all were.

“What about an imp?” Lydia said, turning the book toward them and revealing a picture of the grossest looking creature Stiles had ever seen. “They’re not magic, exactly. And they like to cause trouble.”

Derek paused his pacing long enough to study the picture. But then he growled and resumed stalking from one side of the room to the next, so Stiles assumed that was a no.

“Using your words, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “We appreciate that.”

“It’s not an imp.”

“And you know that how, exactly?”

“I just do.”

Stiles sighed and tossed Lydia a ‘see what I have to deal with’ look, to which she only rolled her eyes. Next to her, Erica grinned. “Maybe it’s one of the pack.”

That made the room go quiet. Derek stopped again and looked at her, eyes narrowing. “What.”

“Well, it’s a bunch of pranks,” Erica said. “I know I’ve been tempted to burn Isaac’s scarves more than once. And Stiles has threatened to shave off your eyebrows many times before.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “But I’m not stupid enough to actually go through with it. I like my insides where they are, thank you very much. Plus, I cherish having a throat.”

Derek glowered at that. Erica only shrugged.

“It’s just an option.”

“Yeah, well, if someone in this room has been pulling these as ‘pranks’, I can promise to do more than turn their hair pink,” Jackson said, eyes flashing blue. Stiles rolled his own eyes at that.

“Calm down, lizard boy, you didn’t have it that bad.”

“My hair was pink!”

“Yes, and it did nothing to cover up your dreary attitude. That says something, right?”

Jackson growled at him to which Stiles only huffed a laugh. Derek still hadn’t stopped pacing and Stiles was getting dizzy from just watching him. They’d been at it all weekend and he knew the one thing they all needed was sleep. But he also knew Derek was a grumpy Alpha werewolf who never slept, so Stiles didn’t know how he was going to pull that off.

Thankfully, Lydia seemed to read his mind. Because with a loud sigh, she pushed herself up. “Alright, I’m calling it. Everyone is going home and getting some sleep.”

Derek paused to glare at her. But the girl only tossed red hair over her shoulder and arched a carefully manicured brow at him. 

“None of us are going to be useful if we don’t get any sleep, Derek. Not to mention, we all still have actual lives outside of the supernatural. I for one don’t plan to falil out of school because of an imp.”

“It’s not an imp,” Derek grumbled. But he didn’t argue against her other points and the girl smiled sharply, pulling Jackson out of the loft. The others followed one by one until it was only the betas and Stiles left. Erica tossed a wicked smirk between them and flounced into the kitchen and Stiles shuffled his feet, keeping his eyes on the floor.

It was times like this that he was terribly aware of all the things they’d been through. And how things continued to keep happening, despite it all.

“So, uh,” Stiles said, glancing upward. “We’ll figure things out.”

“Yeah.”

“Just get some sleep, big guy, okay? Nobody likes an overly grumpy Alpha werewolf.”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles grinned, waving his fingers through the air as he turned out of the loft. The moment he was out of sight and earshot, though, he groaned and smacked a hand to his face. 

“An overly grumpy Alpha werewolf? Seriously, Stiles?”

_ Seriously? _

Stiles went still then, breaths freezing in his throat. He heard the echo of faint laughter and bit down on his tongue, shaking his head.

This— whatever it was— had been plaguing him for weeks now. Little things, like an additional voice in the back of his head when Jackson came out of the shower with pink hair. The sudden urge to burst out into laughter when Isaac’s scarves had lit on fire. And the feeling of being so… so  _ proud  _ when Derek came out of his room with sharpie eyebrows.

Stiles ground his teeth together and shook his head. It was the stress, he thought. Or the lack of sleep he seemed to be getting, even though he was doing his best to get a solid six hours these days. 

It started out with the little things. That’s what he’d noticed, at least.

And it continued to go downhill from there.

* * *

Their first big clue was when someone painted the word ‘Void’ on Derek’s Camaro in spraypaint. After Derek had calmed down enough to breathe properly and had stopped trying to rip out his own hair, they’d finally managed to drag Deaton into the entire mess.

The druid wasn’t happy. Until he saw the name, at least. And then he went quiet.

Lydia noticed right away.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s not anything out of the Bestiary after all, is it?”

“Miss Martin, I—”

“Deaton,” Scott said, cutting him off. “We need to know. If things start getting worse and mischief isn’t enough for whatever this is, we need to be ready. We need to know how to fight it.”

“That won't be necessary,” Stiles muttered. When every single eye of the pack snapped to him, he blinked a few times and chuckled, running a nervous hand through his hair. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

Derek looked at him with furrowed brows. Deaton looked especially intrigued before he pulled his gaze away again. “It’s called a Nogitsune. It’s… dangerous.”

Stiles scoffed, unable to stop himself. Deaton looked back at him with narrowed eyes and Stiles shook his head, turning away. He was faintly aware of Scott calling his name, but Stiles ignored him, stumbling to his jeep. 

He really should’ve expected Derek to follow. But as the man slowed a few steps away, Stiles refused to acknowledge him. Until the Alpha stepped closer.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said, scrubbing at his face. “I’m just tired.”

Derek still looked concerned, grey-green eyes searching Stiles’s face. Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to step away, but Derek cut him off mid-path. He was wearing his ‘don’t bullshit me Stiles’ eyebrows and his expression was waiting for answers. Stiles sighed.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Why?”

“Gee, I dunno," Stiles said. "Maybe because we haven’t had the proper chance to sleep lately? First the kanima, then the Alphas, and now this? That’s exactly what we need. ‘Dangerous’ Deaton says. What, is that the next thing that’s gonna try to kill us?”

Derek’s face tightened. Stiles groaned and tried not to glance over at the others, where he knew the werewolves were listening in on their conversation. The eavesdroppers.

“I’m just tired, Derek,” Stiles said honestly. “I don’t know why, I just am.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton called out. Stiles ground his teeth together and glanced over, then forced his feet to move, trudging back over to the man. Deaton searched his face and Stiles was well aware of the others watching him carefully too.

“Yeah, D, what’s going on? Wait, let me guess. More research.”

“Not exactly.”

Stiles blinked at him. Deaton tilted his head.

“Are you feeling quite alright, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Dude, am I losing my touch or something? Because everyone keeps asking that,” Stiles said. When Deaton didn’t answer, he sighed. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. So, what’s the newest Monster of the Week?”

Deaton didn’t look convinced, but he launched into his speech anyway. Stiles found he was half-listening. He glanced down at his fingers without fully realizing it, counting them quietly. His eyes felt heavy. He felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Stiles blinked once.

And woke up in the loft, sitting smushed between Isaac and Erica as the TV blared.

Stiles was on his feet in a second, stumbling away as his breaths lodged in his throat. The pack looked up and Scott slowly stood, brown eyes searching over him. The boy raised one hand and Stiles scrambled away, his heart thudding against his chest.

“Wha— what happened? How did I get here?”

“Stiles? Stiles, what do you mean?

“This isn't happening,” Stiles said, turning away and stumbling toward the bathroom. “It's not real. None of this is real.”

“Stiles!”

But Stiles barely heard his own name, slamming the bathroom door shut and flipping the lock. He heard a fist against the door and this time, it was Derek growling out his name. But Stiles ignored them, turning toward the mirror. Admittedly, he looked a little paler than usual. There were dark circles that had started to form underneath his eyes. And he didn’t… he didn’t look like himself.

Stiles didn’t think he was fully himself.

“This isn’t real,” he said, clawing a hand through his hair. “None of this is real. I’m me. I’m  _ me,  _ dammit.”

_ And me. _

Stiles straightened. The amber eyes in the reflection of the mirror glittered with amusement and ten fingers moved up in front of his face. Except now, he had eleven. Twelve. Eight. Stiles looked beyond them and met his own eyes, which didn’t seem to be his own at all.

“Who are you?”

“Void.”

That hit Stiles like a punch. His mind snapped back to Derek’s Camaro and the name spraypainted in white. And then… and then memories beyond that. Sneaking out of his house late at night, chuckling to himself as he shook the can and pressed down on the trigger. He hadn’t slept that night. He hadn’t slept for a while.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Void laughed. Stiles clenched his jaw, lowering his hands.

“Are you here to kill the pack?”

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Stiles yelped as he was caught by the collar and all but dragged out of the bathroom, stumbling to keep his feet underneath himself. Then the hand was gone and he was pushed forward, surrounded by the rest of the pack.

And one blank-faced Deaton.

“Mr. Stilinski,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “And company, I assume?”

The pack froze. Stiles tensed.

“I’m guessing this goes back to the Alpha pack,” Deaton said, like they were old friends having a conversation. But suddenly, Stiles’s skin itched. He shifted nervously and resisted the urge to look at the rest of the pack.

Who were watching him with wide eyes. Derek looked like he’d been slapped.

“It’s been what, a few weeks? A month?”

_ Weeks. _

Stiles startled and glanced around the loft, but no one else seemed to have heard the voice. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

_ Liar. _

“I said I don’t know!”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, looking concerned. “What’s going on right now?”

Stiles stumbled back and nearly ran into Derek, who was standing with his arms crossed and eyes slightly red. Squeaking, he spun around on his heel and tried to stumble into the other direction. But there was nowhere to go. “I don’t know,” he said, fingers tapping a panicked beat against his leg. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

_ Only a little. _

"Only a little? More than a little!"

Stiles growled the last words out and started back toward the bathroom door but suddenly, Jackson was leaping at him. Stiles reacted before he could think and caught the beta by the wrist, slamming him back against the opposite wall. Jackson grunted in surprise and his eyes flashed blue, and Stiles shoved him away, before looking down at his hands in shock.

“I don’t— that wasn’t—”

Something cold and sharp sunk into his neck. Stiles didn’t have a chance to react before the loft was turning sideways and he crumpled to the floor, feeling a pair of hands catching him and the smell of pine filling his nose. Stiles shook his head and tried to rise, but everything was turning black.

He heard Deaton’s voice. Felt something shift in the back of his mind.

And knew nothing more.


	2. I am Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has mixed feelings, Void isn't... murderous? And the pack is worried.

See, Void was tired.

He was a thousand years old, he had to live off of chaos and fear and strife, and he was bone ridden tired. So when a teenager came knocking at his door with a head full of curly fries and a talent for riddles, Void didn’t hesitate to latch on.

He figured he could hitch a ride back to the real world, cause a little bit of mischief, and maybe take over the world. Except, then he didn’t. 

Because Void liked the kid he was possessing. Sure, he was loudmouthed, did way too much thinking, and could never stay still, but it was so different from anyone else Void had ever possessed, that he didn’t leave. The kid— Stiles— didn’t take shit. He was overtly smart. And he was rather amusing.

So, Void decided to hold back on taking over the world for a little while. Until he’d had his fill of this ‘Stiles Stilinski’ and his ridiculous pack, that was.

But then one week turned into two. Two turned into three. By week four, Void was content.

He might’ve taken the pranking too far though.

But it wasn’t like he could help it. While Stiles lived off of curly fries, take-out Chinese food, and packages of Reeses, Void had to actually consume… chaos. Or pain. Or strife. But chaos was the easiest to attain.

Because around the Hale-McCall pack, something chaotic was always happening.

At first, Void didn’t have to work for it. He could sit back and watch as one of the beta werewolves accidentally released a vengeful witch and her curse, or even did something little, like sit in the wrong place during movie nights, and then everything would explode into conflict. But then that got boring and he decided to test the waters and make an attempt of mischief by himself.

And from there, it was too easy.

One thing led to another and the high Void got after shaving the Alpha’s eyebrows was enough to sustain him for days. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t... fun. In fact, it was exhilarating. Almost more than killing the occasional person or two, if he was to let go of his nonexistent morals.

But then the day came when the boy he was possessing decided to turn against him. 

Stiles called him a pixie.

Void could take a lot of things, but that’s where he drew the line. Sure, watching his pranks get thrown out the window was annoying. Not enough to drive him to murder, but he was getting close. But then Stiles went out on a limb and called him a pixie, and the red-haired banshee called him an _imp,_ and Void knew he had to place his claim. 

On the pranks. On the boy. On the fact that he rather enjoyed living in his head and he didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

Because see, Void was tired. He was a thousand years old, he deserved to be a little tired.

But he didn’t feel it so bad in the kid’s mind. Instead, he felt alive again. This was the very first time he’d inhabited a body when it didn’t just feel like someone he was supposed to take over and ruin. The boy laughed when they turned the beta’s hair pink. He brimmed with amusement when the Alpha was eyebrowless. He was smiling whenever they got up to mischief.

Stiles was fun. Void can remember the chaos, the pain, and the strife, but not the fun.

Still, the spray paint might have been a step too far. Because the next thing Void knew, the boy was freaking out, his pack was going feral, and the druid was turning the tables.

But Void wasn’t giving up the kid that easy.

* * *

Stiles sucked at chess. So he wasn’t sure why he’d been playing it for over an hour, but he kept losing. And the face across from him— one that was too familiar for comfort— kept laughing every time he messed up. Stiles sucked at chess. He didn’t know why he was here.

The eighth time he lost, he rage quit.

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” Stiles said, dumping the chessboard to the floor and sitting back in irritation. “Dude, what the actual hell? Why can’t we play something easy? Like checkers!”

“Checkers is a simpleton’s game.”

“First of all, that’s rude. Second of all, why do you get to make the rules?”

“Because I’m Void.”

Stiles blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m Void.”

That rang a bell somewhere in Stiles’s head. He glared at the overturned boardgame and then at the figure across from him, whose grin made him shiver. “What the hell is a Void?”

The grin melted. “I’m Void.”

“Yes, you’ve said that three times now. But what the hell _is_ a Void?”

He didn’t get an answer. In fact, it looked like the figure opposite him was seriously contemplating that. Stiles glowered down at his hands and— and realized something was wrong. He had four fingers on one hand. Six on the other. Stiles looked sharply back up, his breaths catching in his throat.

“You’re in my head.”

Void leered at him. Stiles shoved himself up and stumbled back, nearly slipping on the scattered chess pieces. His head was spinning and his chest was constricting in panic and suddenly, Void didn’t look so triumphant. In fact, sunken eyes— his own sunken eyes— flashed with concern.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m Void.”

“You’re in my head! Get out of my head!”

Stiles tried to focus on his fingers, but they were shaking too hard for him to concentrate. Suddenly, the reflection opposite him grimaced in pain and Stiles yelped as he felt a cold shock of pain in his neck again. He clapped a hand against the spot and dropped to his knees, at the same time Void did the same.

And Stiles… Stiles didn’t know how to react. He saw stars and a second before he collapsed, heard the sound of Void groaning too. It was too real. Too human.

He woke up with a strangled shout tearing its way out of his throat.

Someone was shouting his name. A pair of hands were holding him down and Stiles barely felt like he could breathe. He struggled for a moment, before his vision cleared and he realized it was Scott looming over him. Derek struggled to keep him down on the metal table. And the pack surrounded him with concerned expressions on their faces.

Stiles took a shaky breath and stopped struggling. Deaton stepped forward, studying his face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Stilinski. How do you feel?”

“It’s in my head.”

That was the first thing that spilled out and Derek’s face tightened. But Deaton only nodded. “For now, the Nogitsune should be at bay. No longer than a day or so, I’m afraid to say, but that’s time for us to figure out a move to counteract its presence.”

“Void,” Stiles said. Deaton narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Its name is Void.”

No one in the room answered. In fact, they were barely looking at him. Stiles swung his legs over the side of the table and buried his face in his hands, trying to calm down his rapidly beating heart. That was the one piece of information and it wasn’t helpful. The thing in his head had a name. What of it?

“What does it want with me?”

“Most likely,” Deaton said. “To use your body as a host. I imagine it would have been little things at the start. Mischief, physical and mental damage to you and those around you, and then eventual chaos. Death, pain, darkness.”

“It was hurt,” Stiles said quietly. “Void was hurt. When you took me out of my head.”

Deaton’s eyebrows shot up. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Can we kill it?”

The pack all exchanged looks. Stiles could see the uncertainty on Deaton’s face and swallowed hard, trying to get the images out of his head, but he couldn’t. Not the strange conversation, the look on Void’s face _‘I am Void’,_ or the flash of pain that had followed. 

There was someone else in his head. Stiles felt like he’d been invaded but at the same time, he was confused.

“Can I go home?”

It was clear he wasn’t going to get an answer to his other question, so Stiles was relieved when Deaton nodded to that. He rubbed at the back of his neck unconsciously, feeling like there was an itch under it he couldn’t appease. He didn’t— he couldn’t— Derek took his arm and Stiles startled, realizing he’d started to breathe heavy again.

But Derek didn’t say anything. Only pulled him off the table and led him out of the clinic. One hand stayed on his arm the entire time.

The older man was watching him in quiet concern when Stiles blinked against the fading daylight. He’d been out for a day? A little less than twelve hours? The last thing Stiles remembered was a pinch in his neck. Suddenly, he turned toward Derek. “What does my dad know? Did you call him?”

“Not yet.”

“Keep it that way.”

_“Stiles—”_

“Derek, please,” Stiles said, holding his uncertain gaze. “Deaton said I have twenty-four hours. If we don’t figure this out before then, then he can know. But don’t him yet. Just give me a chance.”

“A chance to do what, Stiles?”

The thing is, Stiles wasn’t sure. He only set his jaw and held Derek’s gaze, until the man growled lowly and turned away. He hesitantly followed Derek toward the Camaro and realized he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure what exactly he as going to do; but he was going to figure it— this— out. 

_‘I am Void.'_

He was going to figure out what the hell a Void was.

And then maybe, he’d kill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of want to give Void a cookie, is that acceptable? I hope you guys are all doing well today! As always, the comments/support you leave makes my day <3


	3. This Isn't Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to adjust, Void is helpfully unhelpful, and things aren't all sunshine and rainbows.

So Stiles did some research.

Like, a lot of research. Enough that he might’ve forgotten to sleep and his head hurt so much the next morning, he could barely think straight. But it was at least still his head. Only his.

A chill crept up his spine. Stiles closed his laptop with a sigh.

He’d like to say he found nothing of interest online, but that would be a lie. The thing was, Stiles had found a heap of information. He’d found things that made his stomach flip and throat constrict; things that made his palms sweaty and his heart thud against his chest. Things that made his nauseous. 

Because he'd found things that were damning. And that was all he’d found.

Void was a monster.

Stiles was sorely tempted to bury himself in his covers and pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist, but he knew he’d freak everyone out if he did. They’d call him, then they’d call his dad, and then Stiles would be grounded for the next ten years because he was keeping things from his dad again.

But Stiles…. couldn't. He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell his dad right now and he couldn’t let his friends know the depth of the things he’d seen. His dad had finally started looking at him like he was normal again. And the pack had just gotten off the chaos of the Alphas.

Stiles just wanted to erase everything of the past week. But instead, he changed into a fresh set of clothes and tried to make himself look a little less like a zombie.

The one night he’d been free in his own head and he still hadn’t slept.

The pack gravitated to him the moment he stepped through the high school’s doors. Stiles offered a small smile and tried to look like he’d attempted to sleep, shrugging off Scott’s questions and shivering under the fingers that brushed over the back of his neck. The day went by too slowly; there was an itch underneath his skin that he couldn’t scratch and he was constantly zoning out, coming back to reality terrified that Deaton’s drug had run out.

They had a new history teacher. He had a daughter. Stiles zoned out through the rest.

Lydia was the one that found him going through the papers he'd stuffed in his backpack. She caught him ditching lunch to spread them out over the tables in the library and her eyes automatically flashed, that look of calm determination filtering through them.

“Stiles,” she said carefully, moving opposite him and crossing her arms. “What is this?”

He didn’t look up. “Research.”

“From?”

“Last night.”

The red-haired girl sighed and sank into the chair opposite him, grabbing his wrist before he could continue shuffling through the papers. Reluctantly, Stiles looked up and her face softened. “Did you sleep?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said with a humorless laugh, pulling his hand away. “The demon in my head and I had a nice little nap. It was lovely. Did you know Void’s a little spoon?”

Lydia’s eyes sparked. Stiles instantly regretted saying anything. “Void?”

“That’s… not important.”

“What happened yesterday?” she said, studying his face. “Stiles, what exactly happened when you were unconscious?”

Stiles clenched his jaw and glared down at the papers. He could tell her he didn’t know, he didn’t remember, or nothing had happened at all. But if he was honest, the memories had been spinning around through his head since he’d left Deaton’s. The chess, the voice, the  _ thing.  _ The… the nogitsune. That’s what it was. A demon.

“I have until tonight,” Stiles said, avoiding the question. “Before I lose control again and before Derek tells my dad. I need to figure things out before then. So if you’ve just come here to lecture me on getting a proper night’s sleep—”

“Hey,” Lydia said, her voice sharp. But her expression was gentle. She glanced over the papers Stiles had spread out across the table and then grabbed a few, pulling them toward herself. She cast a critical eye over the first one and then sighed, settling down in the chair.

Stiles blinked at her. One carefully manicured brow crooked upward. 

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Stiles could’ve kissed her. He grinned gratefully and grabbed a few more papers, pulling them toward himself. 

He tried not to think about the itch underneath his skin. Or the clock that ticked oddly loud on the wall.

They didn’t leave the library for the rest of the day.

* * *

There was something wrong with his sight.

Stiles could’ve sworn he closed his eyes for one second, eyelids hanging heavy as he tried to study the final stack of papers sitting in front of him. He fought back a yawn and narrowed his eyes at the page before closing them for a long hard second and rubbing at his temples.

Lydia was saying something. He wasn’t sure what, blinking up at her again. Her face was tight with confusion and her brows were knitted together. Stiles blinked a few more times and then shook his head.

“Lyds?”

“... Stiles? What's wrong?”

“M’ fine.”

The concern in her eyes sparked brighter and she reached out for his hand again— and Stiles yelped, yanking backward. Because there were six fingers on her hand and— and— Stiles stumbled back so hard, his chair toppled over.

“Stiles?” Lydia stood too. He backed away from her, panic rising in his throat. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t come near me. Stay away!”

Lydia looked more than concerned now and started to take another step forward, but Stiles was already turning and stumbling out of the library. It was too empty, he realized. The clock above the door read that school had ended hours ago. But Stiles didn’t remember hearing the bell.

The hallway was deserted. The lights were out.

Stiles shoved a hand through his hair and did a full circle, searching the hallway. But it was empty; the library doors were closed and locked. The lights weren’t just out, Stiles realized, but it was dark outside. He shoved out the emergency doors and tried to ignore the alarm that went off behind him, stumbling out onto the street.

_ “Stiles.” _

His heart stopped and he whirled around.

There was a figure that sat on the steps in front of the school. Elbows resting on his knees and head tilted at a slight angle. Stiles stumbled back and tripped over his own feet, falling hard to the road.

Void wore his face.

“You’re back,” Stiles said, words catching in his throat. “You’re here. Time’s run out.”

“Time?”

“Why?” Stiles said, scrambling back. Void stood and moved toward him, feet dragging slightly against the road. His movements were slow and uncoordinated. As if he wasn’t fully the one in control. “Why me? Why did you choose me?”

“Choose… you.”

“Why me?” Stiles shouting, shoving himself up with scraped and bleeding hands. He started toward Void but a sharp flicker of amber eyes and unnatural tilt of his head had Stiles stumbling to a stop. He was shaking, he realized. He could barely breathe.

He was panicking.

“What do you want with me? Why are you in my head?”

“I like it here.”

_ Here. _

“You— you—” Stiles dropped to his knees, staring at Void. He looked… confused and that was an unnatural expression on the demon’s face. Because that’s what he was, Stiles reminded himself. Void was a demon. Void was chaos.

Void had taken up residency in his mind.

“You left the door open,” Void said, crouching down in front of him. “You let me in. It’s like a riddle. I like riddles,” Void grinned and it wasn’t  _ right.  _ “When is a door not a door?”

Stiles couldn’t breathe right. He shoved his palms into his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but his throat was closing. He was panicking, he realized. And he hadn’t had a panic attack like this since the day he learned the Darach had taken his dad.

There was a sudden touch on his arm. Stiles gasped and yanked away, but the grip tightened until it was almost painful. Void leaned closer, voice pleading and touch trembling.

“When is a door not a door?”

“Get off,” Stiles said in a gasp, trying to yank away. “Get off, get away from me!”

“It’s a riddle,” Void said. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles clutched at his chest and tried to catch a breath of air. But he couldn’t. Void’s grip tightened and there was a faint tremor to his hold. Stiles still tried to yank away but he couldn't, and nails were digging deep into his arm now. 

_ When is a door not a door? _

Stiles saw stars. The grip might as well have been around his throat; squeezing and cutting off his air, the words repeated over and over again.

_ What’s wrong with you? _

And then he was sitting straight up in bed, screaming.

“Stiles! Stiles, stop fighting me!”

Faintly, Stiles realized he recognized that voice. There were calloused hands trying to hold him down and he grasped wildly at then, his fingernails digging in and leaving crescents. Suddenly, his bedroom door burst open and his dad burst in. Stiles inhaled in sharp panic and clutched tighter at the man holding him down; scents of pine and aftershave filling his nose.

"Stiles," the voice said again. "Stiles, _stop fighting me."_

Like a button had been pushed, Stiles stopped clawing at the arms that held him down. He relaxed into the chest holding him away from the edge of the bed and took deep, gasping breaths.

“D-Derek?”

“I’m here, Stiles, I’m here. You need to calm down.”

Stiles’s dad dropped onto the bed next to him and his hands hovered nervously over Stiles’s own, eyes snapping from Stiles, to Derek, and back. Stiles realized his own eyes were burning with tears and it felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to his head. Everything hurt. His throat felt raw from screaming.

Had he been screaming?

Suddenly, Stiles jerked in Derek’s hold, yanking back and stumbling away from the bed. He looked at the man, his dad, and then back, holding up a trembling finger.

“You’re not here.”

“Stiles,” Derek said carefully, standing up and raising his hands. “Stiles, I’m here. This is real.”

“No, it’s not,” Stiles said, stumbling away until his back hit the wall. His dad was looking alarmed now, glancing over at Derek, who took a slow step forward. Stiles flinched away and Derek automatically stopped. “I need to wake up,” Stiles said, rubbing at his face. “It’s a dream in a dream. I need to wake up.”

“Stiles, you're awake. This is real.”

“How do you— how do I—”

It hit him like a punch and Stiles looked down at his hands, counting them once, then again. Then he looked up and moved forward, grabbing Derek’s too. He lifted them up and counted twice, before doing the same with his dad’s hands.

There were ten. Ten fingers to each man.

Stiles slid down to the floor with a choked-off sound. “This is real.”

“Hale,” his dad said, words haggard. “Hale, what the hell is going on here? What the hell is wrong with my son?”

Stiles blinked up at him, breaths stuttering. Derek looked like a deer caught in headlights, carefully crouching down. He reached out shakily and took Stiles’s hand, turning it over to count his fingers too. “It’s uh… I don’t—”

“How are you here?” Stiles whispered. The man blinked at him.

“We took shifts to make sure nothing happened.”

“The pack?”

“It was my turn,” Derek said quietly. “It sounded like you were having a heart attack. I didn’t know if…”

Stiles glanced around his room. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but his computer was still open, and there were papers littered across his desk. Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, he tried to smother a sharp noise of panic as the memories from his crashed over him. It had seemed so real.

“He’s still in here, Derek,” Stiles said hoarsely. “Void's still in my head.”

Silence fell over the room. Then slowly, his dad knelt down too.

“Does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here? Because Derek, I swear to god, if you’ve done something to my son—”

“Deaton,” Stiles said, cutting his dad off. “We need Deaton.”

Derek studied him for a long moment and then nodded, pushing himself up. As he thumbed out his phone, Stiles’s dad moved closer and carefully pulled Stiles in close. Stiles knew he was confused and guilt hit him like a brick because of that. But Deaton could help. Deaton had to be able to help.

_ When is a door not a door? _

Because Stiles didn’t know what else there was to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervously removes the 'crackfic' tag. So I think it's fair that Void is not good at human possession (when he's not doing it murderously) so... things will get better! After Void stops driving Stiles to near-insanity by trying to become friends. 
> 
> Of course, I'd love to hear what you guys think! You're all fantastic <3


	4. When the Oni Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles continues to struggle, Void is helpful for a price, and there's a new threat in the game.

Stiles sat on the medical table in Deaton’s office and tried not to meet the eyes of any of the other pack members. He rubbed nervously at his arm as he recounted everything of his dream, from waking up, to realizing that school and everything around him wasn’t real, to having a run-in with Void and his riddles.

Lydia tensed when Stiles mentioned her. Derek’s face did something strange. And when Stiles mentioned seeing Void out of the school, Deaton’s face tightened.

“What did he say, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Something about riddles,” Stiles said quietly.

“Do you remember what?”

“When… when is a door not a door?”

Silence fell over the room for a moment. Then Scott straightened and tilted his head in confusion, brows furrowed together. “When it’s ajar.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. “So the demon in my head has a thing for riddles. Great.”

“Not just a things for riddles, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said. “That’s how he got into your head. When you, Scott, and Miss Argent were working to counteract the Darach, the doors of your minds were opened up. Anything could’ve come through. Anything good and anything…”

“Bad,” Stiles finished. The man nodded.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles's dad said, waving a hand through the air as he stepped forward. He gave Stiles a look of concern and strained exasperation, and Stiles looked away. “What is this about the doors to your minds being opened?”

Stiles couldn’t meet his dad’s gaze. He picked at the sleeve of his sweatshirt and shrugged. “It was during the fight against the Alphas. It was the only way we could find you guys before the Darach completed her sacrifice.”

“So you put yourself in danger," the Sheriff said. "You all three put yourselves and your minds in danger."

Stiles wanted to say a lot of things that happened in Beacon Hills have put them in danger. But he only shrugged and his dad’s face tightened. But before he could say another word, Deaton came back over with another needle and some white liquid. Stiles winced as he saw it, remembering the pinch he’d felt before he’d woken back up.

“That will keep Void out?”

“It'll give you control when you're awake,” Deaton said. “But when you fall asleep, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to give you any control over what happens.”

Stiles winced and tried to hold still as Deaton stuck the needle into his neck. His fingers curled into the material of his jeans and Stiles clenched his jaw as the pinch turned into the feeling of poison in his veins. For a moment, his head pounded. Everything faded in and out.

He blinked a few times and realized everyone was staring at him. Nervous and carefully.

Stiles offered his best smile. “I’m me.”

He could practically feel the relief that fell over the entire room.

Stiles’s dad caught him outside the office before Stiles could accept Derek’s offer to drive him to school. The Sheriff searched his face up and down and then, to Stiles's surprise, pulled him in close. Stiles blinked against his chest, tense for a moment before he melted into his dad’s embrace. 

“I’m alright,” he mumbled into the man’s uniform. “I’m me.”

“Next time, you tell me what’s going on.”

Stiles swallowed hard and didn’t say anything. His dad drew back and studied him carefully. 

“You’ll tell me if something's wrong, Stiles, won’t you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“You’re my son,” the man said, brown eyes flashing. “I want to know whenever your in trouble, I don’t care what it is.”

Stiles nodded quietly. His dad hesitated before sighing.

“I know this is all new and it took me a little while to adjust.” The Sheriff chuckled. “Hell, Stiles, I am still trying to adjust. But I’m not going to turn my back on my son just because a little bit of supernatural stuff is unsettling to this old man. Do you understand that?”

Stiles smiled and it felt real this time. Once more, he nodded. His dad seemed to buy the reaction this time because he hugged him once more and then squeezed his shoulder, heading for the cruiser.

Stiles turned toward Derek’s Camaro.

The man was already sitting inside and he half-glanced over as Stiles pulled himself in. Stiles tried not to fidget nervously after he got buckled in, remembering vividly the feeling of Derek’s arms around his chest and he tried to stop him from clawing his own face off. Or the way Stiles hadn't felt safe until he'd counted all ten of Derek's fingers and then he'd felt safer than he had in weeks.

Derek didn’t start the car for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath and finally did so, offering a small glance over. “I told the betas to keep an eye on you. If anything happens, you go to them or you come to the loft.”

“Derek I don’t need a babysitter.”

“This isn’t babysitting,” Derek said, his voice only a little bit above a growl. “This is your head, Stiles. This is us protecting it. If you don’t think it’s only you in there, I want you to contact me. Not Scott, not Deaton. Me.”

Stiles glanced over at him, raising a brow. The man held his gaze and Stiles’s stomach twisted a little. He nodded and turned away again.

Derek finally put the Camaro into drive.

The ride to the school was silent. This was the last place Stiles wanted to be, especially as his dream continued to hit him in waves of memory. But he still forced himself to grab his backpack and climb out, facing the front steps of the school that he felt like he’d seen only a few hours ago.

He could feel Derek watching him. But Stiles didn’t look back.

Just like in his dream, the pack gravitated toward him as Stiles stepped through the front doors. Just like in his dream, their fingers ghosted over his neck, they stayed close and careful, and Stiles could feel their nervous gazes watching him through every move he made.

He tried not to panic about that.

Stiles tried not to think about how this could just be another dream.

* * *

Stiles recognized the new teacher.

He’d seen him last night. Well… he hadn’t seen him. His face had been blurry and for some reason, that hadn’t bothered Stiles in his dream. But as he introduced himself and his daughter to the class now, Stiles couldn’t help but feel like he’d lived this day one too many times. 

He gripped the edges of his desk tighter and tried to ignore Scott’s concerned look. He just had to get through the rest of the day. No falling asleep, no zoning out.

Stiles could do that.

Lydia brought him a coffee for lunch and Stiles could’ve kissed her. The betas never left his side which ended up being a problem when they followed him into the math class that they didn’t have. But Stiles found himself freaking out a little less as things changed in the afternoon. He avoided the library like a plague, kept a firm eye on his fingers, and counted each ticking of the clock.

Nothing went wrong. Nothing turned upside down.

Stiles’s dad had a shift that night, so Stiles went to the loft after school. And sitting around the TV with Derek and two of his betas, pizza on the coffee table and schoolwork spread out across the sofa and floor, Stiles finally felt normal. He finally felt alright.

That didn’t last very long.

Isaac had gone with Allison that afternoon to try and figure things out with Chris Argent. So when he came back to the loft hours later when it was dark outside, none of them were surprised. Except, Isaac came in looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

His face was pale and his movements were jerky. He didn’t make it three feet before his legs were crumpling underneath him and Derek was shouting the beta's name, moving forward as he tried to catch Isaac before he hit the ground.

Stiles was on his feet in a second. The curly-haired beta jerked on the floor and whimpered at the back of his throat, face drained of blood.

“What happened,” Stiles said, searching him up and down. “Derek, what happened?”

Erica whined at the back of her throat as Derek shook his head. The man carefully helped Isaac sit up and suddenly, Stiles caught sight of a bright red mark on one side of his head. It went all the way behind his ear and when Stiles traced over it with careful fingers, he saw a black mark imprinted there.

He yanked back like he’d been burned. It looked like a backward number ‘5’. When Derek followed his gaze, his expression tightened and his eyes flashed in red confusion.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “What is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it have something to do with Void?”

“... I don’t know.”

Stiles pushed himself up and stumbled toward the bathroom. He could hear Erica calling his name but ignored the beta, shoving himself into the bathroom and shutting the door tight. He turned the lock, flipped on the light, and then glared into the mirror.

It was just like the first time, he tried to tell himself. Just like the first time.

He could control this.

Someone pounded on the bathroom door and Stiles ignored them.

“You’re in there,” he said, glaring at his own reflection. “I know you’re in there, dammit! What’s going on? What are you doing?”

His reflection didn’t answer him. Stiles clenched his teeth together and ran his hands through his hair, short of tearing it out in frustration. He could hear Erica’s voice on the other side of the door now, pleading with him to come out. Stiles continued to glare at the mirror.

“What gets bigger the more you take away?" 

His reflection didn’t answer. Stiles snarled and leaned forward, fingers gripping the side of the sink tightly.

“What gets bigger the more you take away?”

_ "A hole." _

Stiles jerked back like he’d been slapped. The face in the mirror offered him a slow, lazy grin but when Stiles’s hands reached up to touch his own face, there was no smile there. He glared at the face staring back out at him.

“Void.”

_ "What gets wetter the more it dries?"  _

Stiles clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. His reflection seemed to pout.

_ "What gets wetter the more it dries?"  _

"A towel."

_ “When is a door not a door?” _

A snarl rose up in Stiles’s throat this time. “When it’s ajar.”

He might be glaring himself, but the reflection looking back at him was purely ecstatic. Stiles tried to smother the urge to punch the mirror, if only to shatter the expression of the dark, hollow eyes that gazed back out at him. It wasn’t right. It was unnatural.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, voice shaking a little. “What are you doing to my pack?”

_ “That’s not me.” _

Stiles blinked. That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting.

_ "Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it?" _

“I’m not playing your riddles anymore. What the hell attacked Isaac if it wasn’t you? What’s coming after us now?”

_ “A question for a question, Stiles. Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it?” _

“I’m not playing this game!”

_ “What is it, Stiles?” _

“I don’t know! What’s attacking us?”

_ “A question for a question, Stiles. That’s how this works!” _

Stiles clenched his fingers into a fist and tried to stop the trembling of his hands. There was a sudden bang on the door and Derek’s voice came through from the other side. But it was all fuzzy and Stiles couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. He held Void’s gaze instead. Right now, the rest of the pack didn’t matter.

Stiles wasn’t letting Void go without an answer this time.

_ "Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it, Stiles?" _

“... A shadow.”

_ “Very good!” _

“My turn,” Stiles said in a snarl. “What attacked Isaac? What other threat is out there other than you?”

_ “I’m not the threat, Stiles.” _

“Tell me.”

For a moment, Stiles didn’t think he was going to get an answer. The hollow eyes blinked at him, but the lazy grin was ebbing away. Void looked a little hurt instead. Like a pouty child who wasn’t getting what they wanted. 

“Tell me,” Stiles said again. “Or I swear to god, I’ll find a way to destroy you.”

_ “Not if they destroy us first.” _

“They who?”

_ “The Oni,”  _ Void said. And for the first time, he looked a little afraid.  _ “The Oni have come to kill us both.” _


	5. A Shared Mindset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is hesitant, Derek is protective, and Void takes control.

“We should keep Stiles in the loft while the rest of us go to Deaton.”

Stiles rubbed at his arm and tried to avoid the rest of the pack member’s eyes. Jackson was still giving him a dark look and Stiles was pretty sure the beta blamed him for… whatever had happened earlier. They still didn’t know for sure, but Stiles couldn’t banish the sight of the beta unconscious and ice-cold on the loft floor.

Void wasn’t very good at giving straight answers.

_ “The Oni have come to kill us both.” _

“What if we just offered up Stilinski,” Jackson muttered, not for the first time that afternoon. Derek flashed his red eyes and the beta grumbled, but flashed his throat in return.

“We shouldn’t leave him alone here,” Scott said. “Someone should stay at the loft at least.”

“I’ll do it,” Derek said. Erica smirked and the man frowned harder. “If anything tries to come for him, I can make sure nothing happens. Scott, you need to speak with Deaton. Allison, you need to speak with your father again. If he knows what these things are—”

“He’s seen them before,” Allison said. “Once. They’re not… a usual threat.”

Stiles clenched his jaw tighter. Void’s words still rang through his ears.  _ They’re coming for us.  _ Not him, not Void. Both of them.  _ Us.  _ This was a mutual survival. Or a mutual downfall.

If Stiles made it, so would Void. But if Stiles died, Void would too.

_ “That’s not very nice.” _

Stiles jerked a little and Derek shot him a concerned look. But he only shook his head, avoiding the man’s gaze and clenching his jaw harder as his heart beat hard against his chest again.

And he was sure the rest of the pack could hear it.

Stiles didn’t want to have a battle with his mind again. Not here, not now. Now in front of the pack as most of them watched like Stiles was about to snap.

Because maybe he was.

“Deaton can’t do the thing he did earlier, can he?” Lydia asked, studying Stiles’s face. “The needle and the antibiotic. The thing that kept Void out of Stiles’s head.”

“Clearly,” Jackson said, rubbing at the mark behind his ear again. “It didn’t work.”

“No,” Derek said, giving Jackson another red-eyed look. “We can’t. But this discussion is over. I want you all back before sunset because if Chris is right and they come at night, then that’s when we need to be around Stiles.”

“So they can pick us off one by one,” Jackson said. “Perfect.”

“Shut up, Whittemore,” Erica said, brushing blonde hair over her shoulder. “You’re being a big baby You didn’t die, did you?.”

“When they come for you, we’ll see if you say that again.”

Boyd growled and Stiles just felt sick. One by one, with only a little bit of grumbling, the rest of the pack filtered out of the loft until it was only Derek and Stiles left. He shifted from foot to foot and then glanced down at his phone. He’d tried calling his dad earlier but he was on a shift. Stiles just wanted to talk to the man. Hear his voice.

Make sure his dad was safe in all of this too.

“Jackson ended up being fine,” Derek said softly. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“No,” Stiles muttered. “It’s the fault of the demon fox thing in my head.”

_ “Rude.” _

“Shut the hell up!”

Derek looked startled. Then concerned. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Goddammit. I know.”

“... Stiles?”

“Just— Don’t ask me if I’m alright, Derek,” Stiles said. “Because I’m not. I’m not even close. There are things out there. Things! Hunting our friends. Your pack. Maybe Jackson was right. What would happen if you just handed me over?”

_ “We would die.” _

“I didn’t ask your opinion, you riddle-loving asshole!”

Derek looked at him quietly. Stiles clenched his jaw, internally cursing, and realized that despite his decision to not break down in front of his pack, that’s exactly what he was doing. And even worse, he was breaking down in front of his Alpha.

He couldn’t take Derek’s piteous gaze. The last thing he wanted was for the man to start seeing him as some kind of fragile token human again. Stiles had worked so  _ hard  _ to become more than that in Derek’s eyes.

Something in his mind shifted. Like an intrigue that flared up in the back of his mind and Stiles’s stomach clenched as he turned sharply away.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Stiles, maybe you should sit down.”

“Don’t baby me, Derek!”

He didn’t get an answer. Stiles swore and stalked toward the stairs, straight pack Derek without even looking at the man.

“I need some fresh air. Don’t worry, there’s no where I can go.”

“Stiles—”

But he ignored the man. The rooms upstairs were littered with some of the betas things and in the abandoned room at the very back, was Peter’s forgotten stuff. Stiles wasn’t sure why Derek hadn’t thrown them away the moment the Creeperwolf left. Or maybe burned them. But then he spied a container of claws, an old laptop, and sighed, turning away from them.

Derek would never toss out his family’s things. Even if they belonged to Peter Hale.

Peter Hale who was still who-knew-where.

There was nothing around Derek’s loft. The man had bought the entire building and it wasn’t like there was much of Beacon Hills beyond it. The man lived at the edge of the town surrounded by old abandoned buildings a few miles from the preserve. Stiles sighed, dropping down on the edge of the roof, and let his legs swing through open air.

A couple of days ago, the most exciting thing had been Derek’s spray painted car. Now Stiles was harboring a demon in his mind.

“I hate you, you know.”

He didn’t get an answer. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so now you decide to go quiet?”

Still, Stiles got nothing. If he focused hard enough, it almost felt like the presence in the back of his mind was… withdrawn. Thinking, maybe. Or just giving him the silent treatment. Stiles thought he could probe at it but to be honest, he was terrified to even try.

He clenched his jaw and glared at nothing. Something in the back of his mind shifted and Stiles scowled even more.

He hated this. He hated Void.

In the back of his mind, he thought something felt a little sad.

\- -

Derek locked him in the bedroom that night.

Stiles thought he’d been irritated earlier, but now he was pissed. The moment Derek had decided Stiles would be safe behind all the closed doors possible and Stiles had denied that, he’d been hefted over one of the man’s shoulders and all but carried into the Alpha werewolf’s room. Derek continued to drop in on the bed, level him with one red-eyed look and then order the rest of the betas out to watch the rest of the windows and doors.

There was wolfsbane lining the doors. Wolfsbane lining the windows. ‘Nothing was getting in or out’ is what Boyd affirmed.

Stiles wasn’t so sure.

He sat on the edge of Derek’s bed with his arms crossed over his chest and gave the man the darkest glare he could possibly conjure up. But Derek didn’t look very distrubed.

“It’s for your own safety.”

“Own safety my ass. The rest of the pack is at risk, Sourwolf.”

Derek’s face tightened and he shook his head. “The Oni aren’t here for them. They’re here for you.”

“They don’t know it’s me yet.”

“And they won’t. Not tonight at least. Not until we figure out how to deal with them without getting you hurt.”

“I don’t want the rest of you putting yourselves in danger for me.”

Derek’s face softened. “Stiles, they’re your pack.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “My pack. Mine. So what, I’m supposed to just sit back and wait while they face the Oni for me? I’m not defenseless, Derek! We don’t even know what these things are—”

“No, we don’t. And we don’t know what they can do. Which is why you’re here and they’re out there.”

“What they can do.”

“Yes.”

“To the pack.”

“To you.”

“I’m not the one who should matter here, Derek!”

Derek’s face tightened and for a moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but then there was a distant thumb and a low snarl. Derek tensed, tuning toward the closed door. Stiles stilled too, dread settling over him.

Then the sounds of fighting broke out. Stiles leaped off the edge of the bed, making for the door, but Derek caught his arm before he could break the mountain ash line and rush out to reach the rest of the pack. Stiles snarled and tried to yank away, but that man’s grip was unforgiving.

“Let me go, Derek. Dammit, let me go!”

“They’re here for you, Stiles!”

“They’re here for whoever the hell stands in their way!”

“Stiles, you’re not going out there!”

Stiles pulled back and stumbled away, glaring at the man. Derek held his gaze firmly, eyes bright red and chest heaving. He didn’t move from the spot between Stiles and the door, though. And beyond it, someone howled. Stiles growled and leaped forward again.

There was a shifting in his mind. 

This time, he caught Derek around the throat. The man’s eyes jerked, hands flying up, and Stiles slammed him against the closest wall. Derek’s eyes widened, Stiles felt his round too, and then something shifted in the back of his mind once more.

_ “Gentle now.” _

Stiles’s grip loosened. Derek started to reach for his arm again, though, and Stiles shoved him into the wall one more time. A little harder, enough to put a small dent in the paint. Derek grunted, looking dazed, and Stiles let him drop back to the floor, turning toward the door.

The line of mountain ash broke the moment he crossed it.

There was the sound like a warbled siren. Stiles froze as three pairs of glowing yellow eyes snapped to where he stood. When Allison had told them the Oni weren’t one of their usual threats, Stiles still hadn’t anticipated this. Whatever these things were, whatever darkness they had come from, terrified him. 

_ “Fireflies,”  _ a small voice whispered. Stiles shivered. 

Long silver blades glittered in the faint light. There were bundles on the floor and Stiles’s stomach twisted as they realized they were the bodies of the pack. His pack.

“Our pack,” he said softly. The last thing Stiles wanted was a demon in his mind. And the last thing he wanted to do was provide it sanctuary for longer than necessary. But if Void died, so did Stiles.

_ “Our pack.” _

There was the sound of heavy footsteps as the Oni moved forward. Stiles studied iron masks, curved fangs, and yellow eyes. He swallowed hard as the closest Oni tilted its head, studying his face too.

One hand of darkness reached out. Something shifted in his mind and then Stiles was being ripped out of his own head, thrown back. Like a hand around his throat but then the moment he was surrounded by darkness, it was gentle. Caressed. Whispered apologies before Stiles looked out of his own eyes and realized they weren’t quite his own at all.

They hadn’t been for a little while.

And when he tore the Oni apart, Stiles didn’t have any control over his body.

**Author's Note:**

> What even is this fic? I have no idea. I've been bs-ing on Tumblr for the past few days and I realized it was time to actually write it. So, here we are; the fic where Void is a pranking chaotic good demon rather than a bloodthirsty psycho. I'd love to hear what you guys think!
> 
> Come bs with me on Tumblr!
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


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